


The Great Mouse Detective Two; Revenge Starts With an R

by KinsleeTheNormalHuman



Category: The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Great Mouse Detective 2, M/M, Pining, i'm not okay, idk if I'll ever finish this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 17:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20568014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinsleeTheNormalHuman/pseuds/KinsleeTheNormalHuman





	1. Chapter 1

The sun sets on the day of the anniversary. The Death of Ratigan, and the success of Basil of Baker Street, the Great Mouse Detective. It happened about a decade ago, on that rainy night at Big Ben. Things had never been quite the same since that fateful day…

Basil had hardly aged a day, except for a distinguishing grey streak of fur that now shined in his hair. He sat in his living room, quietly playing a lovely tune on his violin as Dawson was sharing champagne with his wife, Lady Mose Dawson, and Ms. Judson to celebrate. Basil was… Unusually quiet.   
“Dawson dear…” Lady began. “You must do something to cheer up Basil. He always gets like this around this time of year…” She whispered.

“Me? What can I do? You know, even being his friend, he still keeps his thoughts to himself…” He grumbled. It was impossible to get Basil to talk about his personal problems, even from the very beginning.

“Mr. Dawson, you’re the only one he talks to in the first place! At least give it a try… Get him to have a glass!” Ms. Judson encouraged, pouring a glass and handing it off to Dawson, pushing him towards the living room to get him to leave.   
“A-all right! All right! Don’t shove me!” He protested, and waddled up to Basil, standing next to the chair as Basil paid him no mind as he strummed. Dawson cleared his throat to get his attention, and there was at least a pause in the song, but it continued on, with a heavy sigh from Basil.   
“What is it, Doctor?” Basil asked, his tone clearly showing he was really only humoring his politeness.

“Basil, come now, have a drink with me and the girls! I’m sure you’re dying to chat about our latest endeavor, and how you cleverly caught the scoundrel!” He tried to sound enthusiastic for him, and took his violin, and replaced it with the glass.

“Doctor, you haven’t got to worry about me. I’m just contemplating…” Basil replied, closing his eyes and sipping from the glass. “You go through the trouble every year. And while it is appreciated and acknowledged, I’d like to be left alone.”

“Can you just answer me why? If I knew, I wouldn’t have to bother you.” He argued, placing his hands on his hips. His voice was annoyed but still sounded sincere.

“Dawson, no matter how many times you ask, you know I can dance around the question and make you forget what we were even talking about in the first place. So please, can we skip the charade this year, and let me think in peace?” An irritated tone replied.

“Basil… Please…” Dawson begged, taking his friend’s hand, and looking him in the eyes. “Just tell me.”   
Dawson was definitely getting on in the years. Most of his hair was already grey. He wore a tired expression almost always, especially now dealing with his moody companion. Basil always felt guilty looking at him, and recognizing how much of Dawson’s life was dedicated to being by Basil’s side, with never asking anything in return…

“... All right. All right!” Basil snapped quietly and continued. “Sit down, old fellow. And I’ll explain. But it doesn’t leave this room, all right?” He sighed and pointed his finger down to stress the point. Dawson smiled at him and did as he was told, sitting in the large heart-shaped chair across from Basil, and waiting eagerly.

Basil stared into the fire, sipping his glass again as he thought of where to begin. Well, where he should begin that didn’t make him sound like a mad man. He couldn’t think of one.

“I can’t help but feel… Slightly empty this time of year. With thoughts of old challenges, I can’t help it. Unstimulated, if you will, my brain getting soft… My wit to falter...” Basil began, stirring his glass while looking into the swirl.   
“Basil?” Dawson asked, not quite understanding.

“I miss the challenge of something only one person brought, or could ever bring to the table.”

A sudden knock at the door cut off Basil’s explanation, and Ms. Judson ran to the door to answer it. When she opened it, she gasped, cupping her cheeks   
“Oh, my stars!”   
“Who is it, Ms. Judson?” Basil asked, hopping up from his seat with burning curiosity. Just as he spoke, he spotted the guest. It was none other than Miss Olivia Flaversham, arm linked with her father Mr. Flaversham, who hadn’t aged well, but was still kicking, that’s for sure.

“Mr. Basil!” Olivia called out with a bright smile as she helped her father step in, and sit on the sofa. She ran to embrace him, and Basil returned the affection, picking her up and spinning her around.

“My my! Look at how you’ve grown, Miss… Flansam!”   
“Flaversham, Basil!” She laughed and hugged him tighter. “Olivia Flaversham.”

“Right, right! I know the face, just couldn’t place the name!” Basil reassured, letting her go. “You’ve certainly changed quite a bit! What a lovely young lady you’ve become.” He bowed and kissed her hand.

“Oh, Olivia! You’re quite a young belle! Tell me, how old are you now?” Dawson asked, getting up from his chair to greet her as well. Looks like he did forget the conversation they were having…

“I’m 19! My birthday was just a few days ago, and Father got me tickets on the trolley to see you!” She laughed, and Basil did as well. Ms. Judson made her way over and took her coat and hat, as well as Mr. Flaversham’s things as well.

“My lovely daughter… Many men I’ve had to beat off with my cane!” Mr. Flaversham teased, raising his cane and swinging it lightly. Olivia laughed, patting her father’s hand. Basil looked her father up and down and shook his hand.   
“Good to see you too, Ol’ Boy! You don’t look a day over twenty-five!” He smiled, and Mr. Flaversham laughed.

“You should know better than to flatter an old man like me!” Mr. Flaversham replied through his chuckle. He shook Dawson’s hand as well, giving him a firm nod.

“You do look good, sir. I’m quite jealous!” Dawson remarked, rubbing his mustache sadly. “Been quite awhile since I had any color other than grey.”   
“Working in the justice system will do that to you, I’m afraid. But God Bless you for doing it, Doctor.” Mr. Flaversham smiled, patting his hand.

Basil’s smile faded a bit, and he glanced at Dawson again. It seemed… Basil did cause him to age a little faster. But just as he was getting to those darker thoughts, Olivia nudged him with her elbow to bring him out of it.

“So, Mr. Basil, we’re always reading the papers to see things about your success. Could you tell us about the most recent one? I found it rather exciting! I’ve been trying to learn a few things so I can go to the police academy. You really inspired me!” And boy, that put a sincere grin back on Basil’s face. He patted her shoulder and nodded.

“I’d love to tell you more about it, then we must talk more about this career you’ve decided to go into! I’ll have to test your skills to see if you may live up to my name!” Basil encouraged, sitting back in his chair as everyone gathered around the fire to hear about the latest caper. Little did they know, an evil scheme was being brewed not too far away, in the other corner of London… 


	2. Into the Rat’s Nest

After the fall that Basil had miraculously survived with holding onto the propellor of Professor Ratigan’s getaway blimp, a splash sounded down below in a human fountain. Now, for a human, that fountain wasn’t too deep, about up to the knees of a taller than average London man. But that’s a lot deeper to something the size of a softball barreling down from the stroke of ten off of Big Ben’s face. Of course, water isn’t easy to give away, so quite a few broken bones were expected after slapping the water’s surface with a sickening thud. A frame of the kind Ratigan had, however, could take a blow like that and live. Which he did.

Once Ratigan hit the concrete bottom of the fountain, it took absolute bare minimum survival instincts and adrenaline for him to make it back to the surface of the water. That breath of air had never tasted so sweet, and clinging to the sides and crawling out felt like running a marathon on your hands and knees while two-ton weights dragged behind you.

Raspy, shallow breaths were all he could manage. What kept him from dying flat out? Spite? It was probably spite. He was far from a noble man, despite how he wanted to appear. His tattered clothes were soaked, weighing him down even more so. Rolling off the side and onto the ground below hurt unbearably so. But he bore it. He was not about to let himself die in such an undignified manner. He wasn’t a sewer rat who would drown in a pocket change fountain. It’s not how he would let himself go out.

Nor would he let himself lie beaten on the ground next to said fountain. He clawed at the ground to keep himself moving. The pain was being persistent, and any less of a mouse would stop and let themselves die right there to avoid it. But he was far more than any mouse could ever be, he knew. He had to be. To show the world that he wasn’t different in a bad way. To show Basil he was not some sewer rat.

After what felt like hours into the night, hiding in alley ways and in other dark areas to remain unseen, he slipped away on a trolley headed out of London. But that doesn’t mean he’d never return. He would. And a decade later, he did.

During his time away, Ratigan took the name of another man he saw in the cemetery to begin his new career of a life of crime. Old habits die hard, after all. He took the role of a college professor, a seemingly simple man (although larger than a mouse usually is) who liked to dress well and never went anywhere without a cane by his side. He didn’t need the cane once he recovered, but he felt like it made him look much more dignified.

He had lost a good bit of weight in his recovery time, only being able to eat mushy foods with a broken jaw would do that to you. He had taken advantage of a widow who lived alone after the passing of her husband, and she had nurtured him back to health no questions asked. It was obvious she wanted something to love, and Ratigan would play the part as long as she would change his bandages and provide that awful mush that kept him alive.

Once he had been nursed back to health, he disappeared in the night from the widow’s home with nothing but a thank-you note with an R as the signature. Another name change and a forfeited teaching degree got him into the next town and his job where he lay in wait for his next option. He chose to teach a philosophy class, and eventually amassed a following of students who would do anything for him because of the lessons he taught. That became his new henchmen, whom he promised part of his wealth to in return for their services. In the small city he had moved to, he now had under his thumb as a criminal boss in a matter of a year and a half. With the profits of the city at his disposal, he slowly made his way back to London but stayed just outside of the jurisdiction to keep out of Basil’s radar. He could wait as long as he needed.

The decade had passed. Ratigan’s name was a bedtime story parents told their children to keep them from wandering the streets alone at night. The people were relaxed without the threat of his tyranny. It was almost a shame to disturb the lovely peace London was currently in. Almost…

Ratigan had returned to his old hideout to find it full of junkies who were looking for a place to hide from the police. More henchmen to him. And within a week, the place was back to its former glory, wine fountain and all. His lackeys were far better trained this time around, they were not drunken rookies. The practiced their days firing pistols, fighting in hand to hand combat, and studying the ins and outs of London to find better escape routes when they pulled heists.

Organized crime had wavered since Ratigan’s defeat, so pulling small heists on banks and raids on the people of London was effortless. So small Basil would let the police handle it because there was no mystery for him to figure out. Petty thieves banding together, and just being faster than the policemen’s reaction times. But Ratigan was planning something far bigger than anything he had pulled before. He’d bring London to its knees, and there would be nothing that Basil of Baker Street could do about it once he was through with him. It promised to be an event that he would truly never forget… Because he’d make Basil live through it for the rest of his life.


End file.
